


At the right hand of the father

by hamiltonneedshugs



Series: Washington's On Your Side [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blackmail, Daddy Issues, Father Figures, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltonneedshugs/pseuds/hamiltonneedshugs
Summary: Third in my “Washington’s On Your Side” ‘verse (aka my ongoing obsession with Dad!Washington). While Professor Washington is struggling with his increasingly strong paternal feelings for Hamilton, Hamilton tries to pretend that he doesn’t need any help (spoiler alert: he does). Hurt/comfort university AU, feat. Alex “Just Talk To Someone Goddamnit” Hamilton,  George “If I Had Any Hair Left, It Would Be Grey” Washington, Martha “Badass Lawyer” Washington, and the rest of the Revolutionary Boys. Fluff with a side of plot - basically an excuse for me to gather all my favourite sappy tropes in one place. Now turning into an weird kind of platonic pining fic where Washington wants Hamilton as a son and Hamilton wants Washington as a father, but they’re both too scared to say anything. Please excuse the unoriginal title.





	1. In Which Washington Feels Too Much

“Come on, Alexander,” Washington said cajolingly, as they walked down to the car park together.“It would be lovely if you could pop round for a couple of hours. And you can’t tell me that the others won’t take good care of Laurens in the meantime.” 

 

Hamilton hesitated and rubbed one hand along his roughly bearded jawline. Washington had first broached the subject of them rearranging their dinner a few weeks after the last attempt, and he still seemed a little sceptical.

 

“Martha would love to see you,” Washington said casually, playing his trump card.

 

Hamilton smiled around his hand, apparently despite himself. “Well, I guess I can find a gap in the schedule. Maybe…Next Thursday?”

 

“Next Thursday it is,” Washington said smugly, and unlocked his car as they reached it. 

 

***

 

This time, Hamilton actually consented to a lift straight from university to the Washingtons’, though it meant that he turned up at Washington’s office looking unusually well-groomed, his hair neatly tied back and his goatee trimmed. Admittedly, he was still only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but he did have a rather smart jacket too. It was a little long for him though, and Washington privately suspected that it might be Lafayette’s. 

 

Martha greeted them both at the door with a beaming smile and a kiss on the cheek for Washington, and a tight hug for Hamilton. Washington made an excuse about needing the loo to give them a minute. For all the jokes about Washington being his dad, he guessed that Hamilton missed his mother a great deal more, and might very rarely have the opportunity to interact with that kind of figure.

 

When he came back downstairs, Hamilton still had his head tucked down into Martha’s shoulder (he was barely taller than she was), and she was patting his back gently. She winked at Washington as he came into her field of view, and indicated with a glance that he should go through into the kitchen.

 

By the time Washington had checked on dinner (lasagne, gradually becoming golden-brown on the top in the oven) and set the table, Hamilton and Martha had followed him through. Martha was asking quietly about Laurens, and Hamilton was answering her questions with a surprising lack of worry in his voice.

 

“Yeah, we’ve set him up a bed downstairs for now,” Hamilton said, taking a seat at Martha’s gesturing. “So he doesn’t have to worry about the stairs, but I think he’s only going along with it to humour us at this stage.”

 

Martha smiled. “That’s excellent, though, if he's feeling better. Have you heard anything more from the police?”

 

Hamilton shook his head. "No. John and I both made statements, but we haven't heard anything since.”

 

"Don't they have any CCTV around there?" Martha asked disapprovingly. "I mean, they'd be facing an attempted murder charge, it should be top priority.”

 

Hamilton shrugged. "I don't know. The street lighting is terrible around there, and, well, since they haven't come back with anything…”

 

He sounded despondent, so Washington sought to change the subject. "Come on, let's dish up. Alex, what would you like to drink?”

 

Once dinner was served, Washington brought up the student union referendum, which he hadn't had a chance to discuss properly with Hamilton so far. Hamilton, of course, was incredibly passionate about it, and Washington kept having to motion to his still-full plate to remind him to keep eating.

 

"The real problem is the lack of... awareness in the student body," Hamilton said, as Martha covertly tipped the last piece of garlic bread on to his plate. "I mean, we campaigned _hard_ , and voter turnout was still low as hell.”

 

Washington shrugged. "Well, you never know, maybe taking back power from the NUS will help people be more engaged.”

 

Hamilton grimaced. "I doubt it. Even some _politics_ students are willing to sit back and let other people decide. Let alone the people who are actually campaigning to stay in just to avoid the drama! Like having a union that doesn't fight back against tuition fees 'avoids drama'. D’you know Seabury? He wrote this blog post about it, and I swear I have never seen such out-of-touch, pro-establishment, privileged bullshit..." 

 

Washington bit back a smile.

 

"Was that who you were, ah, talking to in that photo?" Martha asked innocently.

 

Hamilton actually paused in his tirade for a moment. "What photo?”

 

Martha got it up and plucked the newspaper page from its current position on the dresser. "This one." She proffered the photo of Hamilton mid-shout (and obscene hand gesture).

 

"Erm," Hamilton said, turning red. 

 

Washington couldn’t keep a straight face, and burst out laughing. After a moment, so did Martha. Hamilton buried his head in his hands jokingly. 

 

“All right, maybe I was a bit drunk by that stage,” he confessed. “We were celebrating, OK?”

 

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’m sure if you dug back far enough in the archives you’d be able to find a hint of George doing the same thing when a cabinet vote went his way,” Martha said slyly, and Washington affected outrage.

 

Throughout the evening, Hamilton opened up more and more. Washington saw it as enough of an achievement that he'd confessed to feeling tired once or twice in his office, but under Martha's experienced eye, he began to confide still more. Washington didn't know if it was years of lawyer experience in coaxing the true story from the unwilling, a mother's instinct, or just a natural talent she possessed. Not to mention the fact that she’d somehow convinced him to call her ‘Martha’ instead of ‘Mrs. Washington’.

 

He had no idea how they'd got on to the subject, but before he knew it, Martha was asking, "It was just you and your mother growing up, then?" gently. Washington tried to imagine how he could ask the same question without getting at least a dark glare, and at worst a punch, thrown at him.

 

Hamilton nodded. "Yeah. Well. My dad moved out when I was five or so, I think, but he still gave mum money - y'know, child support. He was never physically there though, so I never really knew him.” He shrugged. “Probably a good thing, by the sounds of him.”

 

 

Martha nodded as Washington stared intently at the salad bowl in the hope that his presence would be forgotten.

 

"But then when I was ten, he moved abroad, and stopped helping Mum." Hamilton grimaced. “And, well, then he sold the flat from under us, which was... not great."

 

"That must have been very hard," Martha said carefully, but Hamilton shrugged.

 

"My mum and I had each other, so it wasn't so bad at first. We got by, until… Well…” He made a face again, and stabbed at his plate, missing any food. His fork scratched on the porcelain, and he winced.

 

Washington, losing his nerve, stood up and asked if anyone wanted pudding. He thought Hamilton looked a little relieved at the distraction though.

 

Neither did Hamilton object when Washington offered him a lift back later, and they talked all the way home about some obscure historical source Hamilton had been reading, and how he worried that the secondary literature had grossly misunderstood it. 

 

“Thanks sir,” Hamilton said, as they neared the house. The road wasn’t busy at this time of evening, and Washington no longer felt confident enough to leave Hamilton to the walk alone, so he just stopped the car directly opposite the front door. The thought of whoever had hurt Laurens still wandering the streets made his blood run cold. 

 

“You _do_ know you can stop calling me ‘sir’,” Washington suggested, but as expected, Hamilton gave him an unimpressed look. He managed a chuckle in response. “All right then, I’ll let you off for the moment.”

 

“Please thank Martha for the dinner again,” Hamilton said. “And I’ll email you the notes I made, and the reference for the translation I used.”

 

“Excellent. I’ll see you around, Alex.”

 

“Bye, sir!” Hamilton gave him a quick, bright smile, and was gone.

 

Washington waited outside until Hamilton had unlocked his front door, despite the impatience of another motorist behind him. He gave Hamilton a quick parting wave, as he was briefly illuminated by the open doorway behind him, and then pulled away.

 

He switched the radio on for the journey back, and tried not to sink too deeply into introspection before he got back home to Martha. It had been a nice evening, but his heart was growing heavy. 

 

Martha knew, of course, as soon as he got in. She’d made a start on the clearing up, but threw the tea towel over her shoulder and turned to hug him. 

 

“You all right, George?” she said quietly.

 

“Yes,” Washington said. “He’s back home safe.”

 

She kissed him on the cheek. “Come on. Come up to bed.”

 

He followed her up the stairs, switching off the lights as they went. He was tired suddenly, and he wanted to hold her in his arms.

 

“What are you thinking?” she said a few minutes later, as, their pyjamas donned, he switched off his bedside lamp and nuzzled closer to her in bed.

 

“Hamilton,” he said, and she stroked his cheek and waited for him to continue. 

 

“He… I worry.” Washington sighed. “He’s something special, but he’s seems so vulnerable. No matter what I do, I’m not going to be able to… look after him like a father. Jesus, even if I _was_ his father, I couldn’t watch him night and day. And I’m not. I’m his professor, he’s my student. I shouldn’t even be _trying_.”

 

Martha, bless her, only listened.

 

“He’s a good lad, but he cares too much about his work and his politics, and not enough about himself.”

 

Washington hesitated, and ducked his head to his chin. 

 

“And… Seeing him like this, feeling protective of him like this… It makes me realise that I’ll never…”

 

His voice broke a little. 

 

“Oh George,” Martha murmured, and drew him close. 

 

Washington exhaled slowly, trying to keep his thoughts practical. He'd long known that biological fatherhood wasn't going to be a possibility for him. Martha was the only woman for him, and after the third miscarriage they'd been warned that it might not be safe to try again. He loved Martha far too much to risk her health on the off-chance, and besides, she had Jack and Patty. Of course, he'd loved them as his own for as long as he could remember, but now they'd flown the nest, their visits were increasingly rare.

 

And then Hamilton had barged into his life. A brilliant young man, whom any father would be proud of - and yet he didn’t have one for him to look up to, or to praise him. It made Washington ache just as much as it angered him. It didn't seem fair.

 

He didn't know how much of the explanation he mumbled aloud to Martha, but she understood, of course. 

 

"I know," she said. "But you can't change his past. All you can do is keep an eye on him as best you can. You never know, he might still be popping round for dinner in ten years time."

 

Washington smiled. "You're right, as always."

 

He shifted up to kiss her on the forehead. He could see her smiling eyes, even in the dark. "I'm sorry. I'm just getting maudlin in my old age."

 

"I'll forgive you," Martha said coyly, and rubbed her nose against his.

 

"Are _you_ all right?” Washington asked. 

 

She nodded. “I’m fine. But don't forget he needs a mother as well, you know."

 

Washington laughed. "Unfortunately for you, I think the bar has been set considerably higher on that side."

 

She hit him lightly. "I'm not trying to replace her, you silly man. I'm just saying, I worry about him too, George."

 

Washington hummed, and pulled her close. “Two old fools we are. What are we going to do with ourselves?"

 

"We'll think of something," Martha said. "Now, enough fretting. Go to sleep." 


	2. In Which John Provides Expositional Backstory

The knock on Washington’s door was so quiet he barely noticed it, and he glanced up at the clock in confusion. It was half past four, he had no appointments, and it was really too early for any of the boys to be popping over for a lift. Besides, as spring rolled on, the evenings had been warm and light enough for walking.

 

“Come in!” he called. 

 

The small figure of John Laurens shuffled in, and Washington jumped up to help him with the heavy door. Laurens grimaced in thanks.

 

“Thanks, sir.”

 

“Laurens! Are you all right? Sorry, I’m not quite done with my marking yet, but I can…”

 

“No, no, don’t worry, I’m not really here for a lift, just wanted to ask you something. I can wait. And please, call me John.”

 

“Well, if you’re sure, take a seat,” Washington said, waving him over. John sat down, a little gingerly, though he was looking much better (certainly he must be to have escaped the watchful eyes of the others).

 

Clearly sensing Washington’s worried eyes, John waved away his concern. “Seriously, get on with your marking. I just wanted to catch you before you went home, I’ve got my phone to keep me entertained.”

 

“Ah, all right,” Washington said, still a little bemused, and returned to his computer. He’d gone through the hard work of reading the students’ essays, now he just had to review his comments, give a final mark, and upload it for moderation - he didn’t have many more to go. Half an hour later, he gave a sigh and a stretch, and shut down the computer.

 

“So… John, what can I do for you? Are you feeling better? Is it something to do with one of your modules?”

 

“Yes, much better, thank you,” John said quickly. “But actually, it’s about Alex.”

 

Washington’s heart sank. “I should have guessed. Is he all right?”

 

John exhaled slowly. “I mean, that’s kind of a relative term with him. But no, I don’t think so. He really hasn’t seemed right recently, and now he’s got into a flap about his dissertation as well.”

 

“His dissertation?” Washington said in surprise. “I thought it was almost done?”

 

“Er, no,” John said. “Look, I don’t want to get into it, it might be nothing… But he doesn’t seem _right_. I can’t put my finger on it, it’s just something over the last couple of days - he just seems even more worried than usual. I’ve asked him, but he says it’s nothing. And I just wanted to… warn you.” He stared at his shoe, running one finger along the heel critically.

 

“OK,” Washington said, intrigued at John’s hesitant demeanour.

 

“Yeah. Don’t tell him I told you.” John bit his lip, glanced up, whistled through his teeth. “But y’know, all the joking about the Dad thing aside, he listens to you a hell of lot more than he listens to most people. In the house, we keep an eye on him, we give each other a head’s up if we think something’s wrong. And you’ve been looking after him a lot, especially when I got hurt, so…” John shrugged. “This is your head’s up.”

 

“Thank you,” Washington said sincerely.

 

“Seriously, though, don’t say anything to him. I don’t think he’d mind, since it’s you, but he’s pretty damn cagey. Just… watch out for him, yeah?”

 

“I will,” Washington said. “Now, I’m all done here, do you want a lift back?”

 

John flashed him a charismatic grin, though it was pretty tired. “If you don’t mind. Swear that wasn’t my angle, though.”

 

“I wouldn’t be offended if it was, it’s a long walk back,” Washington said, and went to pick up his coat. “Come on, son, do you need a hand with your bag?”

 

John gave him an appraising look, shook his head, and they made their way downstairs. 

 

Once they were in the car on the way home, John spoke up again. 

 

“You don’t know how unusual it is, you know, for Alex to let someone new in.”

 

“I can imagine?” Washington suggested. God, how defensive and standoffish Hamilton had been at first.

 

“You seriously can’t,” John said firmly. “I get the impression that he didn’t have many friends before we met. He’s… too much, I think, for some people. He’s just… All that raw energy, cooped up inside. Once he met us, I think he got the chance to let some of it out in a way other than fighting, but still.”

 

“When did you meet?” Washington asked curiously.

 

“Me and him? Sixth form.”

 

Washington glanced across at John - he was smiling fondly.

 

“He got in on a scholarship - just as crazy and brilliant as he is now. Posh private school, nobody knew what to make of him. We hit it off right away.”

 

John sighed nostalgically. “He was working two jobs and living in a foster home at the time. Me and him started making plans to get our own place even before I er… left home.”

 

“You left home while you still at school?” Washington asked cautiously. He glanced at John again - he was grimacing a little.

 

“Well, I didn’t have much choice, to be honest. But my dad gave official permission, and fudged the legal paperwork for Hamilton, I don’t exactly remember how.”

 

“I… see,” Washington said, not seeing at all. John’s tone had suddenly become very bitter.

 

John chuckled under his breath and drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “Yeah, well… You’ve probably heard of my dad. Might have even worked with him, I know you were in politics. Henry Laurens, Tory MP?”  


“Ah,” Washington said diplomatically, taking a left turn.

 

“Yeah. The one who’s voted against gay marriage basically a record number of times at this point, and somehow still manages to stay elected, because people are dicks.” John sighed. “Let’s just say he didn’t take very kindly to me coming out.”

 

“Jesus,” Washington said, because what else was there to say?

 

“Yeah. Quite. He said much the same thing. Numerous times.”

 

“But at least he sorted things out for you and Hamilton?” Washington said desperately, feeling bad that he was driving the car and unable to give this suddenly serious conversation the attention it really deserved.

 

“Erm, mainly because I threatened to go super public with the gay son thing, and ruin his political career, and his life in general,” John supplied cheerfully. “After that he gave me a shitload of money, papers for Alex, and told me to get out of his house and never come back. He pays my rent for appearance’s sake though, so I can’t complain, right?”

 

Washington swore quietly under his breath. “John, I… Well, I’m sorry, cliche as it is.”

 

There was a long silence. 

 

John sighed. “Eh, it’s all right. Best thing he ever did for me, to be honest,” John said. “Alex and I have been each other’s family since then, best as we could. We picked up Herc once we got to uni, and Lafayette not long after that.”

 

“What are all your plans next year?” Washington asked. “Will you be sticking together, or…?” 

 

He didn’t really want to voice the thought that they might have to split up. But he could hear the smile in John’s voice when he started speaking again. 

 

“Yeah, of course. Alex and I are doing our masters - well, I’m doing my conversion course, but same difference… Herc is getting an actual adult job working for a fashion place in the city, and Laf’s not sure yet, but he might be getting involved in some kind of International Relations project? That or some agency translation work to tide him over until he decides. We’re looking at flats at the moment, actually.” John snorted. “Hopefully in a better neighbourhood.”

 

Washington laughed despite himself. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Have you sorted out how you’re going to be able to afford it, or…?”

 

“Well.” John started counting off on his fingers. “Herc’ll have his job, and he’s been selling crazy-good handmade clothes on his Etsy for as long as I can remember, I’ve still got my allowance for Alex and I if need be, though he’s saved a shitload of his student loan. And Laf does modelling on the side, so he’s saved up a packet this year.”

 

“Very good,” Washington said, impressed.

 

“Hopefully the rent’ll be one thing I can force Alex to stop worrying about, even if it kills me,” John said, with a grimace.

 

“Hmmm,” Washington said non-committally, privately thinking that Hamilton would probably insist on worrying about everything despite all logic to the contrary. 

 

“I think he’s got so used to having, well, nothing,” John said contemplatively. “That’s why he’s so obsessed with his marks, his degree, all the time. He’s never had that safety net to be able to stop and think, or take some time out. His brain’s been all he’s got for all these years, and he’s…” He shook his head. “He gets convinced that he’s the only one who can solve the world's problems."

 

"And then hasn't got time to sleep, obviously," Washington added. 

 

"Oh, of course not," John said despairingly. "Five hours a night is good for him."

 

Washington sighed. "No wonder he always looks so exhausted."

 

"I know, but what can you do, right? I can't force him to sleep."

 

"No, of course not, it's not your fault," Washington hastened to add. 

 

"Normally I'm more concerned that he hasn't eaten, to be honest," John said. "I end up making him something so at least he can absent-mindlessly shovel it in around the ranting."

 

Washington chuckled. "That sounds exactly like what he was doing last week. He was so busy telling my wife and I about low voter turnout that he still had most of his food left by the time we'd finished.”

 

John laughed. "Well, thank God I'm not the only one who has these problems."

 

"You could come over to dinner as well," Washington said impulsively. "All four of you. I'm sure Martha would love to meet you."

 

"Oh, that would be really nice, thank you," Laurens said graciously. "What does your wife do, if you don't mind me asking?"

 

"Oh, Martha's a lawyer. Much more high-flying and intellectual than me," Washington said, with a cocked eyebrow.

 

John whistled. "Wow, I'm going to have to pick her brains then. Sign me up."

 

Washington smiled. "I'll warn her you're only in for the careers advice. Though I have to say, she does some sketching in her spare time - she loves the idea of making her own clothes - so I'm afraid it'll be Herc she'll be making a beeline for."

 

"Goddamnit," Laurens said, without heat. "And I've got no doubt that you, Laf and Alex will be talking about your book all evening (I swear every day Laf seems to think of another thing to ask you about it). I'll be the odd one out."

 

"Well, there'll be free food, if nothing else," Washington said, and John laughed again. 

 

"Fine, you've won me over."

 

They fell into a companionable silence for the rest of the journey. As they neared their destination, John suddenly started rummaging inhis bag. Washington glanced over curiously, but said nothing.

 

"Well, I guess I'll see you around, professor," John said. "Thanks for the lift, as always."

 

"It was my pleasure," Washington said. He indicated the sheaf of papers that John had unearthed and was now scribbling on. "What is...?"

 

"My number," John said quickly, thrusting a scrap of paper in his direction. "If something comes up with Alex... Please let me know. And for organising that dinner, because Alex's useless with a calendar and always manages to triple-book himself."

 

"Thanks," Washington said sincerely, taking the paper. "I'll text you, so you'll have mine too."

 

"Sounds good," John said. "Let's hope we only have to use it for dinner-related things. But yeah, thanks, and have a good evening."

 

To say that John jumped out of the car would be an exaggeration, but he moved without wincing, which Washington was impressed and pleased by. He raised his hand in a brief wave and watched John walk carefully to the front door before he pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments guys :) Next chapter should be up relatively soon once I finish editing.


	3. In Which Martha Doesn't Deserve This Drama

Washington woke suddenly. The bedroom around him was dark - it couldn’t yet be morning. He lay for a moment, staring at the familiar patterns on their ceiling, listening to the rain lash down. There was an odd banging noise from somewhere in the house - he wondered if the radiators needed bleeding again. Beside him, Martha’s breathing was deep and quiet.

He rolled over with a groan to check his phone for the time. As he clicked it on and winced at the brightly lit screen, he realised that there were a number of missed calls.

He sat up, startled. Hamilton. Fifteen missed calls from Hamilton. And it was 3.07am.

He got out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could and went to the landing to make a call. 

“Alexander? Are you all right?” Washington asked, his voice an urgent whisper.

“Hi, sir!” Hamilton’s voice sounded remarkably chipper, though there was something… off about it. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Late?! It’s three in the morning!” Washington said, with no small degree of acerbity, especially now Hamilton didn’t sound to be at death’s door (surely the only acceptable reason for calling at this hour).

“Sorry!” Hamilton said. “It’s just my dissertation, I…”

“This is… not appropriate,” Washington said, a little despairingly, sitting down on the top stair and running a hand over his head. He barely knew where to start. “Hamilton, why the hell aren’t you in bed?”

“Well, I tried calling earlier, but you didn’t pick up, so I came round, and…”

“You came round?” Washington said, incredulous.

“Well, y-yes,” Hamilton said, and Washington’s half-asleep brain finally connected the odd sound in his voice, the banging from the house, and the heavy rain.

“For God’s sake,” he said aloud, and dashed down the stairs, flicked on the porch light, fumbled for his keys and wrenched open the front door. He heard Martha’s startled voice from upstairs.

Alexander Hamilton was standing on his doorstep, soaked to the skin, violently shivering, his phone still pressed to his ear. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, looking a little guilty.

Not guilty enough, in Washington’s opinion. 

“Get in here,” he snapped, grabbing Hamilton by the collar and yanking him inside. His skin was clammy with the damp and ice-cold. Water came away in his hand as he accidentally wrung out the fabric of his shirt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Hamilton almost dropped his phone in shock. “Sir, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I know it’s late…”

The way Hamilton cowered back made Washington ache. He forced his voice to soften again. “Jesus, Alexander, I’m not angry about it being late, I’m angry because you’ve been out there in the freezing cold… You’re soaked through…”

He pulled back a little to examine Hamilton further. His clothes were sticking to him, his soaking hair plastered to his head. He was blinking water out of his eyes, and his barely-visible shivering was more evident close-up. His lips were a dark purple-blue.

“Sorry,” Hamilton said again. “The buses don’t run this late.”

Until that moment, Washington had been hoping against hope that Hamilton had only been standing on his doorstep for a few minutes, but now it took a massive effort to keep his temper in check.

“You walked here?” he spat out, and Hamilton cringed. “Christ alive, Hamilton, it must have taken you hours, the weather’s godawful, what were you thinking?”

“C-came to ask you about my dissertation,” Hamilton said, and he swayed a little on his feet.

Washington grabbed him by the arm and guided him to a chair. “Right, stay there, I’m getting you a towel,” he said quickly, and went to run up the stairs. Martha met him on the landing in her dressing gown.

“That stupid boy,” she said, slightly-fond and mostly-exasperated. 

“Stupid is a damn understatement,” Washington muttered under his breath, seizing a towel and, after a moment of thought, a few items of clothing as well. 

When he made it back down the stairs, it was to find Hamilton cautiously setting a raincoat on the kitchen table. “Why the hell weren’t you wearing that?” he said, trying to keep his tone as light as he could manage, and failing.

“It’s got my laptop in it,” Hamilton supplied. “I didn’t want it get wet.”

Washington had to bite back his comment and brandished the towel instead. “Right. Now please, go and get yourself changed. I’m not getting into… this until I can be sure you’re not going to die of hypothermia. I’d offer you a shower, but I’m worried about dropping your blood pressure.”

Hamilton nodded jerkily, and Washington half-dragged him to the downstairs bathroom and left him with the towel and clothes. Then he put the kettle on, switched on the heating, and went to get his own dressing gown.

“Is he all right?” Martha asked, as he reached the top of the stairs again, his footsteps heavy and tired.

Washington nodded. “I think so. I’m going to give him the talking-to of his life though.”

“Do you want me to help?”

Washington hesitated, but shook his head. “It’s all right. Go back to bed.”

Martha rolled her eyes. “No fear of that. But I think you’re right, he knows you best. Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed her gently.

“Better get back to him, he’ll be tearing up the house if you don’t watch him,” she teased, and handed him a blanket.

Back downstairs, Washington’s phone buzzed in his dressing gown pocket. He pulled it out, and saw that although the deluge of calls from Hamilton had clearly stopped, he did have a new text. 

John Laurens: Not to horribly worry you or anything but do you have any idea where the hell Alex could be, he’s not in his bed.

Washington sighed exhaustedly, and typed back It’s all right, he’s here and safe.

He contemplated calling John, but just then Hamilton emerged from the bathroom. His shivering was, if anything, even more pronounced. He was wearing a pair of Washington’s jogging bottoms and an old t-shirt, both of which hung off him. It made his small frame look even more fragile than normal, and his entire appearance was so wretched that all thoughts of John blinked out of Washington’s mind.

“Right, tea, coffee, or hot chocolate?” Washington said, steering Hamilton towards the kitchen chair closest to the heater and draping the blanket over him. “Only decaf options though, I insist. And keep that over your head, your hair’s still wet.”

“Y-you have hot chocolate?” Hamilton managed with a fair attempt at a laugh.

“Even I indulge sometimes, yes,” Washington said, going and fetching two mugs. “Hot chocolate, then?”

Hamilton nodded, but when Washington turned back, he was already pulling his laptop out of the raincoat package.

“Put that down,” Washington said curtly, pushing the hot chocolate into his hands. “I’m serious. We’re not discussing it until you stop shivering.”

“But sir…”

“Hamilton, you have turned up at my home at three in the morning. You are going to play by my rules, or I will call Student Services, I’m serious.”

Hamilton subsided a little. He sighed, and retreated a little more into the blanket, his whole body shaking.

“You’ve got no idea how close I am to taking you to the hospital,” Washington sighed, leaning heavily on the table. 

“P-please don’t,” Hamilton said.

Washington resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. “Jesus,” he muttered, and then, a little more gently, “Alexander, you need to look after yourself. How are you feeling?”

“Not so good,” Hamilton admitted, which surely meant that he felt godawful. He looked like he was trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

“Right, drink that, and let me know if you feel any worse, all right?” Washington said kindly, and Hamilton nodded. “I’m just going to go and more clothes.”

He quickly searched the airing cupboard upstairs, and returned with a faded old fleece jacket, probably from his own university days, his spare dressing gown, and another blanket. He helped Hamilton into them silently, as his hands were clumsy with the cold. 

“Sorry,” Hamilton muttered, and he did actually look contrite for once, now thoroughly bundled in warm layers. “I… I didn’t mean to cause any bother.”

Washington didn’t know whether he wanted to hug or punch the boy. “You turned up at three in the morning, I would say you had to be prepared for some degree of bother,” he replied tartly.

Hamilton glanced down at his mug. “I… I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“No, well, that much is evident,” Washington said. “But apology accepted. Though if you ever scare me like this again, I will not be happy. If I had any hair left I swear you’d be turning it grey.”

Hamilton managed a smile at that, and his lips were looking a slightly better colour. 

“So, what on earth possessed you to come here?”

“My dissertation,” Hamilton murmured. 

“Mmmm,” Washington said carefully. “Last time I looked, it was firstly - almost completely finished, secondly - really not worth risking your life over.”

Hamilton shook his head. “The other day, in the library, I… I got into an argument with Aaron Burr.”

“Burr?” Washington said. “The masters student?”

“Yeah. He got the highest mark in his year for his dissertation, and Laf… Laf asked him about it and Burr started saying that the key to it was to really balance out your argument, and that all the people he knew who had gone in with a pre-formed thesis had dropped shitloads of marks. That you needed to be impartial, and to keep your cards close to your chest, and that the reader shouldn’t know which angle of the argument you preferred because it was non-academic, and…”

“And that bothered you because you’re pretty up front with your opinions in it,” Washington summarised. 

Hamilton nodded fervently. “I… I realised I might be looking at the question all the wrong way, and I panicked, and I’m trying to rewrite it, but I haven’t got nearly as much reading from this standpoint as I have for my other one, so I’m really struggling, and the deadline is next week, and…”

“All right,” Washington said, holding a hand up to stop him. “Leaving aside for a moment the fact that a last-minute panic about your dissertation is no way an excuse for this kind of suicidal idiocy, let me tell you something about Burr.”

Hamilton looked up at him, face distressed. 

“Burr is a fantastic essay-writer, it’s true. His dissertation was a masterpiece. You know what else he is, though? An absolutely lousy academic.”

Hamilton’s face twisted. “But the dissertation…”

“A dissertation isn’t meant to be impartial, Alexander! How many academics have you read that are truly impartial? Come now, you’ve read my books, can you tell which side I favour, reading them?”

“Yes,” Hamilton admitted.  
“Academics argue, Alex, they have passion, they aren’t afraid to try something new. They get into petty fights with each other over who’s right and who’s wrong. They have an idea and they fight to prove they’re cleverer than anyone else. Aaron Burr will no doubt have an excellent career as a particularly slippery politician, or as a writer of textbooks. But I would like to hope that you would do better.”  
Hamilton didn’t look entirely convinced, but a little of the fevered panic had gone out of him. He leaned back against the heater a little more, looking tired. 

“Now,” Washington said, trying to return to the gentle tone again. “What were you thinking of, coming here by yourself?”

Hamilton shrugged, not making eye contact. “Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop working. Didn’t want to disturb John, he’s still recovering. Laf’s got a debate on tomorrow, and Herc’s handing in coursework.”  
“And walking here?”

Hamilton shrugged. “I worked myself up so much that I just had to get here somehow. It was too late for a bus, and I can’t really afford a taxi. I thought that walking would help. It was only spitting at first, but then half an hour in it started to chuck it down, and I had to take off my coat to protect my laptop.”

“OK,” Washington said with a sigh. “You’ll excuse me for the cynical tone, but it sounds rather like you’ve been working yourself to the bone again.”

Hamilton shrugged again, rubbed his face sheepishly. 

“Please, Alex. This can’t happen again. Not the knocking on my door, I don’t really mind that, though I’d really rather it didn’t happen on a regular basis, and certainly not this late at night. By the sounds of it, by the time you started trying to walk over here you weren’t at your best. Have you been sleeping?”

Hamilton made a face. “I’m too stressed.” “All right then,” Washington said quietly. “What about eating?”

Hamilton shook his head.

“In that case, I’m going to make you something,” Washington said, getting to his feet. “What would you fancy, soup? Cheese on toast?”

“Sir, there’s really no need,” Hamilton said, trying to get up, though he was hindered by his bulky clothes. 

“Sit down,” Washington ordered. “Soup and bread it is then. Tomato, vegetable?”

Hamilton seemed to give up the fight. “Tomato, please.”

“Good. And while I remember, I want you to text those housemates of yours to let them know you’re safe. I cannot believe that a few weeks after John was attacked you’ve walked all across town, alone.”

Hamilton pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it there stupidly as Washington tipped the whole can of soup into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave. He buttered two slices of bread while he waited for it to finish, and eyed Hamilton critically. His shivering at least seemed to have abated slightly. 

"Now, stay there," Washington said, once the microwave had finished, handing the tray of food to Hamilton. "I'm going to make you up the bed in the spare room."

He held up a hand in anticipation of Hamilton's resistance. "No arguments. Eat your soup. And text John, you won’t get anyway just staring at that phone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who suggested sickfic (including deans_obikin, musicalgirl4474, and Daydreamer). Not 100% sure that hypothermia counts, but it's one of my favourite tropes, so you're getting it anyway. Don't worry there are more comment-inspired chapters coming up, thanks again for the ideas guys :) Hope you enjoyed


	4. In Which Hamilton Is (Nearly) Tucked Into Bed

When he got upstairs, however, Martha was already half-way through making the bed. She was using a set of Jack’s old bedding, which Washington was amused to notice had small multicoloured dinosaurs on it. She smiled at his surprise and rolled her eyes as she plumped one of the pillows. “You’re too predictable, George."

"Do you want a hand?"

"Don't be silly, I'm almost done. Go and convince him to stay.”

Hamilton opened his mouth as Washington came back into the kitchen, but was distracted by the buzzing of his phone. He gave an apologetic grimace, and picked it up.

Washington couldn't quite make out John's exact words, but he did hear the loud burst of sound that suddenly blared from the receiver. Hamilton winced and held it a little further from his ear.

"Look, John, I'm sorry, all right, I just thought..."

"YOU DIDN'T THINK!" Washington heard John yell through the phone.

“All right, it was really stupid, I know, but I'm fine.”

There was a long pause.

"Yeah, I got changed and Washington's made me soup. I'm all right.”

Washington thought maybe he should unobtrusively drift back into the other room, but then Hamilton glanced up at him

"Really? All right, I'll see..." 

Hamilton lowered the phone and met Washington’s gaze awkwardly. "Sorry, he wants to speak to you, I..."

"Pass him over," Washington said quickly, and took the phone. "John?"

"I am so glad I'm not there, or I'd be ripping that fucking moron's head off - 'scuse my language sir," John said venomously. "Is he OK?"

"Yeah, as well as can be expected,' Washington said. Hamilton frowned a little over his mouthful of bread. "He was freezing when I first got him inside, but he's warmed up now. And we've talked about his dissertation, so I think he's a bit less stressed about that."

"That goddamn dissertation," John moaned. "I told him over and over again it was fine, but he didn't listen. OK, well, thank God he’s safe. I'm going to get a taxi over and come get him."

"There's no need," Washington said. "We're making up the spare bed for him here, he can stay the night."

"You sure?" John said cautiously, clearly not that keen on getting a taxi at this time in the morning. Now that the anger had died out of his voice slightly, the tiredness was plain to hear.

"Yes, of course. Get back to bed, John, it's late."

John snorted. "You're telling me. I woke up and went to get a drink of water, saw his bed was empty, and just about had a heart attack. I was this close to calling the police, but he's done this kind of crap before, so I didn't want to jump the gun."

"Hmmm," Washington said disapprovingly. Hamilton, knowing the sound had to be directed towards him, looked worried. "Well, at least get some rest now. I'll bring him back tomorrow."

"All right.” John yawned. “Thanks sir, you're an absolute star, and he doesn't deserve any of us."

Washington chuckled. “Goodnight."

"Night." 

Washington hung up and handed the phone back to Hamilton. 

"So, John's satisfied now he's heard from my babysitter, is he?" Hamilton said grumpily.

Washington glared at him. "Believe it or not, Alexander, I think maybe he feared your judgement might be impaired, considering you thought walking here in the dead of night and pouring rain was a good decision. He is only trying to look out for you - don't throw that back in his face."

Hamilton wilted a little. "Sorry. You're right."

Washington sighed. "I'd give you a lecture now, but to be honest I'm too tired, and I've no doubt you are too.”

Hamilton made a face, but didn’t deny it, moodily shoving more bread into his mouth. Washington sighed, and went about tidying up the kitchen. He washed up their mugs and threw the heap of wet clothes in the dryer (setting it on timer for the morning), as Hamilton finished his soup. 

“Right then,” he said, once he heard the noise of Hamilton’s spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl. “Bed time.”

Hamilton, for once too exhausted to protest being treated like a child, got up at Washington’s gesturing, and allowed himself to be escorted upstairs. The guest room was small, just opposite the main bathroom, and Martha had already switched on the little bedside lamp and put out a towel for the morning.

Washington expected Hamilton to both object to the dinosaur bedding and bid goodnight to him curtly at the door, but instead Hamilton just staggered straight to the bed and dragged himself under the duvet. He didn’t even bother to remove any layers of borrowed clothing, but maybe he was still cold. Washington was left awkwardly hovering by the door, resisting the ridiculous urge to go and tuck him in. 

“Feel free to use the shower in the morning,” he said instead. “Your clothes should be dry by then. And don’t go rushing off, we need to have a proper talk about your dissertation, and I’ll give you a lift back, OK?”

“OK,” Hamilton murmured. There was such a long pause that Washington almost thought that he’d dropped off to sleep already. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Washington said, because saying “no problem” would really seem to be stretching the truth at this point. “Goodnight, sleep well.”

“G’night,” Hamilton mumbled, and Washington snuck out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Martha was watching him with a wry smile as he crept back to bed.

“Go on,” Washington said with a sigh. “Tell me he’s really crossed a line this time and I shouldn’t put up with it.”

“I’m not going to say that,” Martha said innocently. “I think you’re a big soft idiot, and that’s probably exactly what that boy needs.”

Washington smiled. He knew that he could protest, or agree, and either way Martha would laugh at him, and he would pull her close and tell her that he loved her. So he skipped the intermediate steps and proceeded straight to that, running a hand through her soft, sleep-mussed hair. “I love you,” he murmured. “And I'm sorry I woke you," he added. "You didn't sign up to be disturbed at 3am by... this."

"Mmmmm, I'd rather wake up and know what strays you're bringing into the house," Martha teased. She had closed her eyes again, clearly close to going back to sleep. "Rather than tripping over a heap of them come the morning."

Washington chuckled. "I'll bear that in mind. Sleep well."

She smiled faintly as he kissed her on the forehead (her skin smelling sweetly of her moisturiser), and soon she rolled over on to her side, facing him, and her breathing evened out into sleep.

Washington felt wrung-out and tired, but his body was still buzzing with the adrenaline of dealing with Hamilton, and he didn't fall asleep as quickly as he'd hoped. He kept wondering what he was going to say in the morning - even assuming that Hamilton didn't jump out of bed and immediately sneak off to catch the earliest bus home. It was going to be hard to tread the line between "this was inappropriate and very worrying and it shouldn't happen again" and "if you need anything please come speak to me instead of getting yourself into such a state". He really needed to establish some kind of boundaries (that would be the professional thing to do, certainly), but they were already so far past that point that it felt a little like shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted. Not to mention that he didn't know where he'd want the boundaries to be set, even if he could enforce them. He felt it was likely that he would be receptive to more familiarity than Hamilton was prepared to offer or participate in, which made the entire exercise more one of self-reflection than something to pick apart with Hamilton.

Half an hour later, sleep having evaded him, Washington got up to go to the toilet. As he opened the bathroom door, he glimpsed a glimmer of light from behind the door of the guest bedroom. Hamilton had (hopefully) fallen asleep with the bedside light still on.

Half-concerned about the bulb getting too hot all through the night, and half-curious about whether Hamilton was really asleep, Washington padded to the door and pushed it open an inch.

Hamilton was indeed fast asleep, mouth open, his hair dramatically fanned out across the pillow. Washington smiled fondly despite himself. He waited a few moments to check that Hamilton didn’t stir at the disturbance, and then shifted the door open a little more so he could creep in and switch off the light.

Close up, he could hear the faint almost-snores of Hamilton’s exhales and the way his face was slightly twitching into a frown in his sleep. He reached over carefully towards the lamp.

As soon as the light was extinguished, however, he sensed rather than saw Hamilton silently jerk awake, startled.

“Sorry, Alex, it’s only me,” he whispered quickly. “I just came to switch off the lamp, you left it on.”

Washington heard Hamilton relaxing back into the pillows at the sound of his voice, and blinked away the afterglow of the light from his eyes to see him better. He could see just well enough to make out him out in the gloom - Hamilton was already lying flat again, and his eyes were closed.

“Sir,” he mumbled very quietly, without opening his eyes. Washington would most certainly have missed it if he hadn’t been hovering so close to him.

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” Hamilton said. “Sir…” The word sounded different somehow, more personal. “Y’got me. Thanks.”

“Go to sleep, Alex,” Washington said softly, not certain what Hamilton meant, and Hamilton grunted in response and rolled over.

Washington crept back to bed, and, the memory of that affectionate “sir” fresh in his mind, suddenly had little trouble getting back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit late. More to come soon :)


	5. In Which A Conversation Goes Unexpectedly Badly

Washington woke early, despite his disturbed night. He rolled over to see Martha adjusting her ponytail in the mirror, already in her running kit.

“You off out?” he asked, voice a little hoarse.

“Mmmm, just got to stretch first,” she said, without turning around, pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Washington admired her face in the reflection. She was so beautiful. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Martha laughed.

“What are you staring at?” she said, turning back.

“Only my beautiful wife,” Washington teased, reaching out an arm for her. Martha leaned into it and kissed his cheek. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Have your shower, we can have a cup of tea together before I go out?”

“Hmmm,” Washington said in sleepy agreement, and rolled out of bed. In the shower, he tried to refocus on the Hamilton situation. What on earth was he going to say? That is, if the boy hadn’t already snuck off as soon as he’d woken up.

Once he’d showered, he dressed and went downstairs. Martha passed him his cup of tea silently (he murmured his thanks), and she went back to her warmup, setting one foot on one of the kitchen chairs and stretching out her calf. Washington sat at the table with a heavy sigh, pushed Hamilton’s abandoned laptop away from him (evidence that he was still in the house, at least), and tried to think of what he was going to say.

“His clothes are dry,” Martha said quietly. “I put them on a hanger in the bathroom, so he’ll see them if he goes to shower.”

“Thank you,” Washington said sincerely. 

“You’re worrying again,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Washington hummed in agreement. 

“Don’t,” she said warningly. “You’re good at giving advice. And he’ll listen to you. He respects you.”

“He hasn’t listened much in the past,” Washington grumbled, but he knew she was right.

“There’s toast, and porridge, and cereal in the cupboard if he wants that,” Martha said, reaching her arms above her head with a groan and going to fetch her water bottle from the fridge. “You’ll do fine, George. You were always very good at the paternal lectures with Jack and Patty.”

Washington snorted. “Thanks. I’ll do my best.”

She came across to kiss him goodbye. “When will you be back?” he asked.

“Might be an hour or so. I’m meeting up with Lizzie, so we might go for coffee or something afterwards.”

“Making yourself scarce, I see,” Washington said, and she laughed.

“Well, maybe a little. I think it’ll be easier with just the two of you. Like I say, he will listen to you, George. Have a faith.”

Washington gave another grumble, but squeezed her hand in thanks. “All right then. See you later. Good luck.”

She left, leaving Washington alone with his cup of tea and his thoughts. After a few moments fruitless pondering, he groaned and reached for a pen and paper. He often thought better if he could commit his ideas to paper. A little later, once he’d laboriously scrawled some notes and his tea was beginning to get cold, he heard the squeak of Hamilton’s door upstairs, soft steps across the landing to the main bathroom, and the sliding home of the bolt. A few moments later, the shower began running.

Washington gave a small exhale of relief that Hamilton was all right, swiftly followed by a sweeping doubt. What was he going to do if Hamilton didn’t want to talk, as seemed very likely? Could he just drive him home without discussing any of this? If he refused, Hamilton would just walk, he had no doubt.

He got up to refill the kettle, and when he came back to his seat, he began making a shopping list instead, so he could glance up innocently when he heard the creak of the stairs. 

“Morning,” he said politely as he heard Hamilton enter the room behind him.

“Morning,” Hamilton said quietly, and Washington finally gave into temptation and glanced around. Hamilton’s hair was freshly washed and damp, though he still looked as tired as ever. His arms were full of Washington’s clothes - the ones he’d slept in. He indicated them awkwardly with a nod of his head. “Erm, thanks for these… I can wash them and…”

“No need,” Washington said easily, standing and taking them from him. “Martha’ll do a wash of her running kit later, I can just throw them in with that. Tea?” he added as he walked to the laundry basket.

“May I have some coffee?” Hamilton asked. His voice sounded odd - distant and formal.

“Decaf?” Washington said lightly, getting a mug, knowing he was pushing his luck.

To his surprise, Hamilton acquiesced. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you, sir.”

“What about breakfast?” Washington asked, pouring out the water.

“I don’t usually eat it,” Hamilton said, unsurprisingly. “Please, sir, there’s no need for this, I’ll be on my way.”

“Alexander…” Washington said with a sigh. He turned away from the kettle, leaning with his back against the worktop, facing Hamilton. “Let me be straight with you. I want to talk about last night. So I’d prefer you not to dash off right away, if that’s all right with you. And I’ll be having some toast, so don’t think you’re inconveniencing me.”

“Toast is fine, thank you,” Hamilton said, bowing his head. He sounded detached, like he hadn’t heard anything Washington had just said - except for the line about the toast. Washington nodded anyway and went to grab a few slices of bread.

Once they were both set up with breakfast, silently served by Washington (butter and marmalade for his own - Hamilton grudgingly buttered his and then tore off a small corner to gnaw anxiously), Washington cleared his throat meaningfully. “So.”

Hamilton’s jaw was clenched. “If you don’t want to tutor me anymore, sir, that is perfectly understandable. But if it could wait until the end of this year, then…”

“That’s… That’s not…” Washington sighed again, and smothered the impulse to reach out and touch Hamilton’s hand or shoulder. His tense posture signalled that it would not be welcome. “Son, I’m worried about you. Again.”

“Not your son,” Hamilton bit out, a barely concealed tremble in his voice, and typical, Washington had repeated the gaffe that had so set Hamilton off when they were mere acquaintances. That said, Hamilton had been a lot more tolerant of it lately. Washington occasionally even got the impression that he quite liked it, but maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of bed this morning. After all, he’d had a very late night.

“Sorry,” Washington said sincerely, and let the silence hang for a moment. “What I mean to say is… Something has to change, Alexander. I know we’ve talked about this before, but this is on a new level. You’re not just overworking, you could have actually risked your life last night.”

Hamilton tore another corner of his piece of toast, still not making eye contact.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Washington asked gently. “I don’t know whether there’s anything available... Student Services... I know they offer a counselling service...”

Hamilton snorted. 

“I’m being serious,” Washington said encouragingly. “Alexander, you must realise that this isn’t healthy, that it isn’t sustainable... Next year might be even harder in terms of workload, and I’m very concerned about you.”

“Thanks,” Hamilton said sarcastically, as if he was trying to suppress a laugh.

Washington paused again, biting back a retort, and took a sip of his tea. He felt that somehow he was failing to reach Hamilton, in a way that hadn’t happened for months now. Their relationship had improved so much, and now he felt like he was back to slamming into the brick wall of Hamilton’s distrust of authority and help.

“Is there anything else bothering you?” Washington persisted, consciously suppressing the “son” that threatened to slip out. “Alexander, you can trust me if...”

“No,” Hamilton said. “Just... You don’t need to worry, OK?”

“Easier said than done,” Washington said, and his voice sounded imploring. “I... Is there nothing I can do - talk to your other tutors? Help you with organising your work again? Just let me know if there’s anything I can do, I want to help.”

Hamilton finally looked up at him, but his face was stony. Washington had the distinct impression that something had changed. This wasn’t the Hamilton he had seen ruffled and sleepy last night, tucked under that ridiculous dinosaur duvet. He coughed awkwardly and looked back down at his toast, trying to remember the points he’d scrawled on his list. Therapy, help, student services, check if anything else was wrong...

“Will you at least talk to someone about this?” Washington said finally, glancing back up at Hamilton, whose face was still blank. “John? Your other housemates? I can understand you might not want to discuss it with me, but...”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Hamilton said flatly. 

“OK,” Washington said, trying not to let the disbelief show in his voice. “I mean, I’d like your assurance that this won’t happen again, but that isn’t to say I don’t want you to come to me if you need help... I just would prefer it not to get this far again.”

Hamilton nodded mechanically. “Understood.”

“Your dissertation...”

“It’s fine. I’ll hand it in,” Hamilton said.

“Oh,” Washington said, a little surprised. “All right then, excellent. I can understand that you’re concerned about it, but really Alexander, your marks are high enough across the board that you don’t need to worry overly.”

Hamilton gave no visible response, now chewing robotically on a small piece of toast.

Washington scrambled for something else to say. “And really, what I said before about lifts.... I know the weather is getting better, and the evenings are lighter, but if you ever need a lift anywhere please just let me know, Alexander. I know I can trust you not to use me as a taxi service.”

The joking comment failed to make any impact. Hamilton nodded again.

“And I spoke to John the other day, about maybe having you all round for dinner?” Washington tried. “It would be nice to meet the others in better circumstances. I don’t know if there’s a time when...”

“We’ve got exams,” Hamilton said. There was an apologetic tone, but it seemed put on over an underlying apathy. “Maybe at the end of term, but I don’t know if the others are going away.”

“All right then,” Washington said, defeated. “Well, let me know.”

The uneasy silence set in again.

“Alexander...” Washington said, one more time. “Please, forgive me, but there seems to be something wrong. If you want to tell me anything...?”

Hamilton glanced up again, and for a moment, there was a quiver of weakness about his mouth. His eyes darted backwards and forward across Washington’s face. Then he shook his head firmly. “No, there’s nothing, sir. Sorry for disturbing you last night. I had better get home.”

“OK,” Washington said, defeated. “OK, just let me finish my toast, and I’ll...”

“I’ll walk, it’s fine.”

“Alexander,” Washington said, failing to keep the irritation out of his voice this time. “Please, this is exactly what I’m talking about. It’s all right to accept help, I’m perfectly happy to give you a lift. It’s a long walk back, you had a horrible night last night, a rest would do you good...”

“I don’t need your help,” Hamilton said. There was no anger in his voice, just that flatness. He reached over to pick up his laptop. “You helped me with my dissertation - you’ve already done far more than you need to do.”

“Alexander, wait….” Washington reached out a hand across the table.

Hamilton yanked his own hand (and the laptop in it) away as if he’d been burned. “You’re not listening to me!” he snapped, and the anger was certainly there now. He sounded very young suddenly - irritable, petulant. “I don’t need your help, just leave me alone!” And with that, he was gone, storming out of the house, out of the front door Martha had left unlocked (damn), slamming it shut and setting off down the drive, his small figure visible through the net curtains. 

Washington took a deep breath, and crumpled his notes in his fist. A fat lot of use they’d been. Jesus. That had gone unexpectedly badly. Before he could think better of it, he found his phone in his hand, trying to find the number that John had given him.

It took the call a few moments to be picked up - more than enough time for Washington to think that this was a poor idea - but before he could make the decision to hang up, he heard John’s voice. “Hullo?” The boy sounded half-asleep.

“Sorry,” Washington said immediately. “Erm, it’s Professor Washington. George.”

“Oh, hi,” John said, sounding surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t look at my phone. What’s up? Is it Alex? Is he OK?”

“He’s... I don’t think so,” Washington said honestly. “I mean, he’s fine physically - he’s just left to walk home but he... He didn’t want to talk to me, and he got angry when I pushed. I’m sorry, I don’t...”

He paused. He didn’t know what to say. He felt like he should apologise to John, but he didn’t know what else he could have done.

“Is he still off on one about his dissertation?” John asked. “For God’s sake, I don’t know what else he wants anyone to tell him.”

“No, it’s not even that,” Washington said. “That’s the thing. He brushed off the dissertation completely, but he’s... He’s still not right. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more, but if he doesn’t want to talk to me, then I’m not really in a position to demand any more from him... I’m just supposed to be his tutor, I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this.”

He felt deflated and tired. His affectionate feelings towards Hamilton were beginning to feel horribly misplaced and inappropriate. It felt like Hamilton had abruptly reverted them back to the purely professional tutor/student relationship somehow, and now Washington was left feeling overexposed and foolish. After all, he had helped with Hamilton’s dissertation, as was his job (though certainly doing so at 3am was going above the call of duty) - but what right did he have to pry into his personal life? 

“No, it’s not your... I mean not that is mine, either, but it’s not your responsibility to mind him,” John said with a sigh. “Thanks for the heads up though. I think probably if he won’t talk to you, he’ll be the same with me, but you never know.”

“OK.” Washington sighed. “Look, just let me know if you need anything, OK? I don’t know what, but... Well, I worry about him. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know, I do too,” John said. He too, sounded dejected. “Worry, I mean. I’ll try to speak to him later.”

“Well...” Washington hesitated. He was going to ask John to let him know how it went, but really asking John to potentially betray the confidence of a friend to inform his tutor wasn’t really fair. “Good luck.”

“Thanks sir,” John said. “Hopefully see you around?”

“Yeah sure. All right, goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Washington hung up the call, sat down heavily, and put his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the comments, they really encouraged me to put this chapter up promptly!! Sorry about Hamilton's drama, I promise everything will be sorted out eventually... I'd ask you to guess what's up with him, but I'd only worry your guesses would be better than what I've actually written! Hope you enjoyed, more to come soon x


	6. In Which Much Crying And Hugging Takes Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: description of a panic attack in this chapter.

 

He didn’t hear from any of the boys for the rest of the weekend. The dissertation hand-in date came and went. He sent Hamilton an entirely professional email saying that he hoped it had all gone well, and if he wanted to drop in to discuss his revision then that was fine. There was no response.

 

Martha was also surprised by Hamilton’s sudden aversion to communication, but she just kept saying that he’d speak when he was ready. Washington wasn’t so sure - or so patient. He had the unpleasant feeling that he had missed something or messed something up - perhaps so comprehensively that Hamilton would never speak to him again. Not that that would be easy, with his masters next year, but Hamilton might already be looking at getting another tutor, behind his back.

 

As the next week, and the following weekend, flashed by with no word, Washington worried more and more. Several times he thought about texting John for an update, but always stopped himself. If Hamilton didn’t want to speak to him, he wouldn’t want John to be passing on any information on his behalf. He did see the boys once or twice around campus, but he walked briskly by and they didn’t seem to notice him.

 

A week and a half after that night, there was a soft knock on his door as he was packing up his stuff for the day. He immediately said, “come in!” eagerly. 

 

Something about the way the door opened made him realise it wasn’t Hamilton before he even saw the figure there. He prepared to conceal his disappointment, but was surprised when Lafayette’s head popped around the door. 

 

“Sir? I wish to speak with you.”

 

“Of course, come in,” Washington said quickly, ushering him towards the guest chair. “How can I help you, son?” He winced a little, concerned about irritating yet another defensive young man, but Lafayette seemed unconcerned.

 

“It is Alex,” Lafayette said without preamble, flinging himself down in the chair, his curls bouncing dramatically. Unlike John, he did not bother with small talk. “He is not right - he has not been so for some time. Do you know anything about this?”

 

Washington went to shrug, and then paused, unsure if that was an accusation. “No, I mean… He came to my house the weekend before last, worried about his dissertation, did John…?”

 

“Yes, yes, I know of that,” Lafayette said briskly, flapping a dismissive hand, and Washington subsided, wondering how on earth someone so young had the confidence to talk to him like that (and pull it off). “It is not that. He has just told us that he will not be sharing a house with us next year.”

 

“He… What?!” Washington’s stomach dropped like a stone.

 

“This is most unexpected, and we are very… confused,” Lafayette said. “And worried. There is something wrong, but he will not talk to us. He has not confided in you?”

 

“No,” Washington said, his heart sinking still further. Lafayette was looking up at him hopefully with his bright eyes, as if he had the answer to this problem, when he felt he was further away from solving it than any of them. “But… Not living with you three next year? John told me…? What is he going to do?”

 

“We do not know,” Lafayette said. “He and John had an argument last night, and he told him then. John was very upset - he has only just told Herc and I. We do not know what to do.”

 

“I…” Washington shook his head. “And none of you have had a falling out with him?”

 

“No,” Lafayette said. “It is something else, but if you do not know...” He shrugged apologetically. 

 

“I don’t,” Washington said. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, he’s been ignoring my emails... Is he even still planning to do his masters?”

 

Lafayette shrugged again. “I do not know. He locks himself in his room and refuses to speak to us.” He rubbed at his face, looking suddenly miserable. “We are his friends, we try to help, but if he pushes us away, then what can we do? I have not seen him like this before.”

 

On an impulse, Washington reached out and patted his shoulder, and Lafayette smiled wanly at him. “I’m sorry,” he said stupidly. 

 

Lafayette’s lip trembled for a moment, and then he stood up to leave. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“I haven’t helped,” Washington said dejectedly. 

 

“Ah, but you are a good man,” Lafayette said. “I am sorry for disturbing you.”

 

And then Washington’s office was empty again.

 

He tried to think of ways that they could get to Hamilton. Was he ill? Had he ever been diagnosed with any kind of mental health condition? Washington could always insist on a tutorial meeting, but if Hamilton wasn’t even planning to stay for his masters anymore, his leverage in the situation was severely reduced. Not to mention the damage that abusing his power as Hamilton’s tutor would do to their relationship. Then again, that was looking as if it was in tatters anyway. The fact that this was for no reason that he could perceive made it all the more frustrating. Each day he opened his emails with trepidation, apprehensive that he’d find a notification that Hamilton had chosen to switch tutors. Though Washington expected he’d find that difficult to do - requests for tutor-changes were supposed to come through him as head of department, not to mention Hamilton’s (well-deserved) reputation of being difficult. 

 

That Friday, in the late afternoon, Washington was walking through campus, preoccupied with a scheduling conflict brewing the following week concerning the end-of-term Humanities meeting. He became aware of a buzz of activity at one of the buildings ahead of him - one of the small study hubs. Students could book into rooms for their revision - they were a bit cramped, but increasingly popular during the summer as the library filled up. But instead of the odd slacker or smoker outside, there looked to be a growing crowd. Washington increased his pace slightly, to see what was going on.

 

He’d only just made the conscious decision to speed up when a figure came bolting out of the huddle. Tall, and moving at speed, the boy was running straight for him. Washington stepped smartly to the side to let him past, but instead the figure skidded to a halt.

 

“Professor?”

 

Washington took a moment to process the face, but recognised it as the other of Hamilton’s housemates. “Oh, Mulligan? Are you all right? What’s going on?”

 

Mulligan looked stressed, though barely out of breath from his sudden sprint, and immediately started gesturing Washington to follow him back to the study hub. “Come with me, it’s Alex... We can’t get hold of John, I was trying to get you...”

 

Washington broke into a run next to him.

 

“He’s having some kind of panic attack.... We think he’s off his meds....”

 

Washington barely had time to process the remark about meds before they reached the cluster of onlookers. Mulligan started shouldering them aside, but Washington announced in a stern voice - “It’s all right, it’s all under control, if you can move on please...” and the crowd parted in front of him.

 

“He’s in here,” Mulligan said quickly, opening the door and jogging down the short corridor. “He was outside, but we brought him in out of the way...”

 

Lafayette opened a door on the left. He looked harried, but pleased to see Washington. “Sir, please, he is very upset. I’m sorry, we have tried to speak to him, but he won’t... John normally calms him down, but he’s not picking up his phone. I don’t know if you could try…?”

 

“It’s all right,” Washington said briskly. “The two of you, wait outside. Keep trying to call John.”

 

The sound of Hamilton’s heaving sobs and gasps was distracting him even as he stood at the doorway, and the pull at his heartstrings only increased in intensity as he made his way inside the room. He closed the door behind him. It was just a small classroom with a couple of booths where students could sit with their laptops, and in the right-hand corner, curled up in a ball, was Hamilton, shaking like a leaf and gasping for breath.

 

“Alexander,” he said gently, walking forwards, a placatory hand outstretched. Hamilton jerked his head up and then back down again, little expression on his face. “Can I sit down?”

 

There was no response, so Washington levered himself down to the floor to Hamilton’s left, resting his back against the wall. He was close enough to touch Hamilton’s arm, but kept that distance for the moment. 

 

He tried not to stare too hard at Hamilton. He had seen enough already. Hamilton looked dreadful, unsurprisingly. His face was very pale and sweaty, he was wringing his hands convulsively, and drawing in jerky, uneven breaths. 

 

“Has this happened before?” Washington asked quietly, not trying to force any eye contact.

 

Hamilton nodded once, then twice more, and then grabbed at his hair with a fresh sob, as if having to physically stop the movement. 

 

“All right then,” Washington said. “You know what works for you?”

 

“I-I-I-I’d have st-st-stopped by now if I could,” Hamilton stammered out. He lapsed into fresh gasps with the effort of speaking.

 

“OK,” Washington said mildly. “My daughter… My step-daughter, used to struggle with this. She found it hard to, ah, change her breathing, so what used to help was finding something to look at, so she could just focus on something else. Don’t _worry_ about stopping it, just let it happen by itself.”

 

Hamilton made a noise that could have been a bitter laugh.

 

“Humour me,” Washington said. 

 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the first thing he found - his wallet. “Here. Look at this. It’s seen better days, I should think, but it’s as good as anything.”

 

Hamilton gave him a sceptical look, but nonetheless turned his eyes to it as Washington spun it in his fingers. 

 

Washington cleared his throat a little, and began talking, propping the wallet on his knee and twirling it end over end. He started talking about the wretched Humanities meeting, and how it always clashed with half a dozen other end-of-term events. He tapped the wallet from knee to knee as he talked about how Adams always insisted it was on a Thursday morning so he could get out of some of his teaching hours. He picked at the cards as he talked about how he was running out of time to get all his marking done. He tried to balance it on one finger as he talked about how Martha had beaten her PB in her run last week, and how she was trying to encourage him to take it up as well. He ran his fingers up and down the faded stitching as he talked about how much he missed Patty and Jack, and when they were next coming to visit. 

 

When he finally ran out of small-talk, the sound of his own voice faded into near-silence. Hamilton was slumped quietly next to him, his breath regular, but his frame crumpled and exhausted. 

 

“Are you all right?” Washington asked, his voice a little hoarse, dropping the wallet to his side.

 

“Yeah,” Hamilton said, in a small voice. “Thanks.”

 

“It’s OK,” Washington said, and took the risk of giving Hamilton a friendly nudge of his elbow. Hamilton gave a wan smile, though it looked as if he was about to burst into tears anew.

 

“Please talk to me,” Washington said earnestly, forgetting any pretence of professional distance. “Please, Alexander. Whatever it is. I’ll do my best, I promise you.”

 

Hamilton put his face in his hands, briefly, swiped at his eyes. “It’s all right,” Washington said. He found himself reaching out an arm instinctively, and Hamilton didn’t shy away from it. Washington put it around Hamilton’s shoulders. For a moment Hamilton remained upright, and then he leant fractionally into Washington’s right shoulder, his head a cautious weight there. Washington’s fingers rubbed at Hamilton’s other shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing way. The boy’s arm felt bony through his clothes. 

 

There was a long silence. Washington felt as if even his own deep breathing was in danger of disturbing it. He and Hamilton both stared at their knees. Hamilton’s hand came up to his face again, and came back to rest on his leg damp with tears. 

 

“It’s my dad,” Hamilton said finally, his voice congested.

 

Washington squeezed his shoulder briefly, and stayed quiet.

 

“He…” Hamilton drew in a shaky breath. “He emailed me. A few weeks ago.”

 

A matching shuddering exhale. “We… We’ve talked before, briefly. Obviously not much, after Mum died. I… I don’t tell anyone. I thought… I’ve always said that I just hate him, would kill him if I ever saw him again. Guess it’s… simpler to think that. That… That _should_ be how I feel. But… This was the first time since school. And he emailed again, asking how I was getting on, sorry he hadn’t been in contact, he’d heard I was at university, was I doing well…”

 

Hamilton gave another horrible, bitter laugh and shook his head. “I actually thought…” His voice broke. “I actually thought he cared. I _wanted_ to tell him… I wanted to talk to him, so I emailed him back. I… I just wanted to make him proud.” His voice went high with the impending tears.

 

Washington squeezed his shoulder again, feeling paralysed, his trepidation building.

 

“He emailed me back… And he asked me for money,” Hamilton croaked, and then started crying again. This time it wasn’t accompanied by the out-of-control gasps of the panic attack, just sad little gulps that threatened to prick Washington’s own eyes.

 

“Alexander…”

 

“I didn’t know what to do,” Hamilton said, his voice twisting with his sobs now. “I actually considered it. He’s the reason my mum _died_ , and I considered it, because I w-was so desperate to have some kind of connection to him, even if I had to buy it. He said he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t really need it, that I was his last resort...”

 

“You didn’t…?” Washington asked quietly, and Hamilton shook his head against his shoulder.

 

“I waited too long to respond,” he said, voice muffled. “I didn’t know what to say… I looked at my budget, but I’ve got to save to pay for my masters, let alone the rent next year, so there’s no way I can afford it… Then… Then I got caught up in my dissertation… And then the other weekend… When I was at yours… In the morning… He emailed again. Saying that he… he…he…”

 

A series of high, hysterical gasps. Hamilton muttered “sorry”, and took a moment or two to get control again. Washington was gripping his shoulder tightly by now, wondering how inappropriate it would be if he tried to scoop Hamilton into his arms like he was a small child.

 

“He said,” Hamilton said finally, teeth gritted. “He said he’d seen John and me on Facebook, a stupid picture of us kissing at some Pride thing, and he… he… he knew what we were doing, and he was gonna… Gonna give the photos to the media, and then… I don’t know how he knew, but he said John’s father would disown him properly, and stop giving him money, and then he’d, he’d…” A few more gulps. “If that happens, _John_ won’t be able to do his masters, won’t be able to stay here. I thought it’d be better if I just paid up - gave him what I’ve got, and tell the others I didn’t want to stay, and, and…”

 

“Have you given it to him yet?” Washington asked patiently, trying not to let his voice betray him.

 

Hamilton shook his head again. “He gave me… He gave me two weeks… Family privilege, I suppose.” He gave a bitter snort of laughter again. “But that ends tomorrow, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do… I can’t give it to him, but I can’t _not_ … And I need to work, but I’m too stressed, and I’m so _tired_ , sir… I don’t know what to do… I…”

 

He dissolved into sobs again, and Washington abandoned all subtlety and turned so he could hug him properly. Hamilton’s body was warm and shaking against his own.

 

“It’s all right,” he said, squeezing Hamilton tightly and patting his back. “It’s all right. We’ll get it sorted out, OK? Trust me.”

 

Neither of them showed any inclination to let go, so they had been sitting there for a little time as Hamilton’s crying subsided, when there was a soft knock on the door. Washington turned to see John there, looking concerned.

 

Hamilton withdrew, murmured a shaky “thanks”, and beckoned John to come in, which he did immediately.

 

“Alex! Are you OK? I’m sorry, I was in a seminar, I didn’t get Laf’s call. Are you all right?” 

 

Washington diplomatically shifted back as John came to sit beside them. Hamilton reached out wordlessly for him, eyes wide, and John hugged him back, tucking Hamilton’s head until his chin in a practiced motion, looking perplexed and worried. “What’s going on? What is…?”

 

“Do you want me to…?” Washington gestured quickly at the door. Hamilton paused, and then nodded. 

 

“If you could just give us a minute, thank you, sir,” he said quietly. 

 

“Not a problem,” Washington said warmly. He got up, ignoring the creaking in his knees, and left the room. Lafayette and Mulligan were sitting outside like anxious parents-to-be, glancing up sharply when he came out.

 

“It’s all right,” Washington said. “He’s feeling a bit better now, John’s just talking to him.” 

 

The two of them relaxed a little.

 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Washington said, motioning to the outer door. “I just need to make a call. Just wave if you need me.”

 

“Thank you,” Mulligan said sincerely, as Washington stepped out into the sunshine.

 

He leaned against the outside of the building for a moment, and gave a deep, calming exhale. He needed to be calm, not angry or emotional. Then he pulled out his phone and called Martha. 

 

 

***

 

When he re-entered the building a few minutes later, Lafayette and Mulligan were no longer waiting outside. Washington tapped on the door of the study room and was beckoned in. They were all sitting together on the floor, huddled around Hamilton. John was closest to him, freckles dark against his suddenly pallid face. Lafayette looked upset and Mulligan angry. 

 

“You have to call the police,” Mulligan was saying. Hamilton immediately objected. “Seriously, Alex, this is _literally_ blackmail.”

 

“I can’t, he’s my dad,” Hamilton said weakly. “I know what you’re saying, but... He’d probably send out the pictures anyway.”

 

“You can’t pay him, Alex,” John said. He looked terrified, but determined. “Whatever happens with my dad, that’s a consequence I’m going to have to live with. We’ll sort it out somehow. I can’t let you throw away your future for this.”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t let him throw away _yours_ ,” Hamilton said simply. The two of them shared an intense look. Washington coughed awkwardly, feeling like he was intruding, and took a seat next to the group, since he thought his knees and back would object to too much more sitting on the floor.

 

“But what can we do?” Lafayette asked. “Alex, do you really think he would send them? John, do you really think your father would... cut you off?”

 

“Yes,” Hamilton and John said simultaneously.

 

“He’s said as much before,” John said. “The only reason he gives me money is to keep me quiet. If the gay son drama comes out anyway, then he’s got no reason to keep me afloat. I’m basically blackmailing him myself.”

 

“Boys,” Washington said, feeling like he had to interrupt. “While I agree with Mulligan, if you really don’t want to go to the police, Alex, I think we can sort this out ourselves.”

 

Four anxious faces glanced up at him.

 

“I’ve talked to my wife.”

 

“Oh?” Mulligan said, sounding confused.

 

“She’s a barrister with the CPS,” Washington clarified, and the realisation spread over Mulligan’s face. “I think with a well-informed conversation, we should be able to put this to bed.”

 

“Really?” Alex asked, his voice weak.

 

“I will do my best,” Washington said sincerely. “Have you still got the emails he sent you?”

 

Alex nodded, pulling out his phone.

 

“Can you forward them to me? Martha would like to see them. And have you got a contact number for him?”

 

“Yeah,” Hamilton said shakily, tapping on his phone. “He tried to call me the other day, after I didn’t reply to the messages.”

 

After a moment, the email notification appeared on Washington’s phone. He forwarded the emails on to Martha quickly, not trusting himself to remain calm if he read them. “Thank you. She says she’ll be heading home shortly. With your permission Alex, if I could borrow your phone, then we can call him from there.”

 

Hamilton shook his head. “I’ll come with you, if that’s OK?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I’m coming too,” John said, his face stony.

 

“And me,” Mulligan said.

 

“If it would be convenient?” Lafayette said hopefully.

 

“No problem,” Washington said diplomatically. “I just need to grab some bits from my office. Here.” He tossed his car keys to Lafayette. “I’m in the west car park up by the library today. You know my car. I’ll meet you there.”

 

“Thank you,” Hamilton said quietly. There was an odd look in his eyes - maybe remorseful? 

 

“You can thank me later,” Washington said, hoping that he’d be able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, sorry about the angst! I promise it'll all get sorted though. Apparently irl (according to some internet source I can't now find), Hamilton did continue to send his father money - and I added in the blackmail because I'm evil. Thank you to ImLostForever for the money troubles and panic attack idea (and TinyWingsTim for seconding the latter). And thank you to EightMinutesToSunrise for suggestion of Hamilton's absentee dad popping up in some way. As always, many thanks for all the comments, they encourage me to stop fretting about editing and just post already. Hope you enjoyed! :)


	7. In Which Martha Saves The Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know nothing about law. Any law things in this chapter were discovered through google, so sorry for any glaring errors.

“You need to be sure, Alex, before we call, how you want us to leave this,” Martha said gently. They were all sitting around the dining room table (there wasn’t enough room in the kitchen). The car ride back to Washington’s house had been tense, the suspense building. But once back at the house, they hadn’t had much time quietly waiting (by the time teas and coffees were made and distributed) before Martha came back, and then they’d thankfully shifted into action. “Even if you really are sure that you don’t want to get the police involved, I think you still have to consider that this could be the end of any potential relationship with your father.”

 

Mulligan snorted, but Martha lifted up a stern hand for silence, and he subsided.

 

“That’s all right,” Hamilton said quietly. “I… I don’t want to have any relationship with him. Ever.”

 

Washington saw John grip Hamilton’s hand under the table.

 

“All right,” Martha said. “And you’re sure you don’t want to go to the police? Not that us having this conversation precludes that, but…”

 

Hamilton was already vigorously shaking his head. “No. I can’t. Even after everything, I don’t think I could… I couldn’t be responsible for sending my dad to prison.”

 

“OK,” Martha said, her voice soft and non-judgemental. “Do you want to speak to him?”

 

Hamilton shook his head again.

 

“All right. Do you want to be here while we speak to him?”

 

Another head-shake.

 

“That’s fine,” Martha said. “With your permission, I think it might to wise to block his messages after this. He may well not be happy.”

 

Hamilton nodded jerkily. “That’s fine, you can do that.”

 

“I might also arrange for his emails to be forwarded on to myself, if that’s all right. Just so I can keep abreast of the situation, but without you having to read them. Is that all right?”

 

Hamilton nodded again.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“All right then,” Martha said. “Is there anything else you want us to say, or avoid?”

 

Hamilton shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

 

“OK. If you don’t want to be present, George and I will go in the other room, if that’s all right?”

 

“You’re going to do it now?” Hamilton said, sounding anxious.

 

“I think it would best to do it this evening, before his deadline tomorrow,” Martha said gently. “Just in case he is preparing to send out the photos.”

 

“OK,” Hamilton said. “No, you’re right. OK.”

 

“Are you sure about this?” Martha said one more time. “I still think going to the police is a completely viable course of action. You have a very good case, which is what we’re going to try and impress on him, but if you did want to proceed…?”

“No, I’m sure,” Hamilton said. He was looking better than earlier, and certainly seemed to be a little less vulnerable with John sat loyally shoulder-to-shoulder with him, the other two anxiously watching his every move.

 

“All right then,” Martha said. “Let’s get this over with. Are the rest of you OK to stay here?”

 

There were nods from the other side of the table, and Martha stood. “George?”

 

The two of them went to the kitchen, closing the door behind them. Washington set his cup of tea, and Hamilton’s phone, down on the table. His palms were sweaty. 

 

“Are you all right?” Martha asked him quietly. 

 

He gave her a wry smile. “Of course. I trust you.”

 

“Good,” she said. “You want to make the call, though?”

 

“If I could.”

 

“Fine with me.”

 

“Have you…?” Washington hesitated. “Have you read the emails? We’d definitely have a case?”

 

“Absolutely,” Martha said. “Don’t read them. They’re vile. I don’t want you going and trying to murder the man.”

 

“I won’t,” Washington said sincerely. “OK then. Let’s get this over with. If he picks up, that is - it’ll be an anticlimax if he doesn’t.”

 

He picked up Hamilton’s phone and quickly found his father’s number in the contacts. It was listed very formally as “James Hamilton”. Washington’s heart gave a pang. He hesitated.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Martha said.

 

“If you start asking me that too, we’ll be here all day,” Washington joked, and pressed “call”.

 

His heart hammered in his chest as the dial tone rang, but he didn’t have to wait long.

 

“Hello?” came a voice at the other end of the line. There was some facet of it that was disconcertingly similar to Hamilton’s. Washington clenched the phone. 

 

“Good evening,” he said pleasantly, surprised at how even his voice was. “Is that Mr James Hamilton?”

 

“Yeah, who are you?” the voice said irritably. “Why are you calling from my son’s phone?”

 

“Ah, I’m your son’s tutor,” Washington said lightly. “Professor George Washington, head of…”

 

“No offence, but I don’t actually give a shit who you are,” the voice interjected. “Why are you calling?”

 

Washington swallowed. “It has come to my attention that you have requested a significant sum of money from your son, Alexander.”

 

“What has he been saying?” the voice asked suspiciously. “That’s between me and him.”

 

“Please answer the question, Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said evenly.

 

There was a silence.

 

“I asked for a small _loan_ , yeah,” the voice said defensively. “Not that it’s any of your business. Is Alex there? Put him on the line.”

 

“He’s not present, I’m afraid,” Washington said. “Are you aware of the definition of blackmail, Mr. Hamilton?”

 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the voice exploded. “Put my son on. I don’t know what the fuck he’s been saying, or what the hell you think gives you the right to call me on my private number. You’re a tutor at his university, are you? I’m going to put in a complaint with your chancellor, this is completely out of order.”

 

“If you’re not familiar with the definition,” Washington continued. “I will pass you over to my wife, who happens to be an expert in these matters.”

 

He passed the phone quickly to Martha, before he could lose his composure.

 

“Martha Washington, QC,” she said, her tone clipped. Washington could hear an angry response from Hamilton’s father, but couldn’t make out the words. “Yes, I am a barrister with the Crown Prosecution Service, for your information. Though this evening I am acting in a strictly informal capacity, to give you some friendly advice.”

 

There was more speech on the line, but Martha cut across it efficiently. “Mr. Hamilton, according to the Theft Act of 1968, Section 21 - a person is guilty of blackmail if, with a view to gain for himself or another, or with intent to cause loss to another, he makes an unwarranted demand with menaces.” She left a pause before continuing. “In this case, the gain you seek to make is clearly the sum of money demanded from your son. This demand is quite certainly unwarranted, as you have no reasonable right to this money, nor any grounds to believe that you do. The menaces are stated clearly in the email you sent to your son two weeks ago, Saturday 5th May, 7.23am. You threaten to send a picture of him and of his friend John Laurens to, I quote, “any paper that will print it”, with the full knowledge (as stated in the sixth line of your email), that this might well cause Mr. Laurens’ father to disown him. And in the eighth line, you confirm that you will take this action in two weeks time, unless your son sends you the money you had previously requested, and you then list your bank account details. I could quote them to you as well, but at this point that would seem redundant.”

 

There was another long pause. The voice on the phone did respond, but it was much less loud and angry that it had been.

 

“Quite the contrary, Mr. Hamilton,” Martha said cheerfully. “With my _decades_ of experience practicing law, I can say with some certain that this makes a compelling case, considering the irrefutable evidence that I have on this phone, and the photographs in question that I’m sure the police would be able to find on yours. The IP address that the emails were sent from, will, I’m sure, be able to be linked back to you with little trouble. Are you aware of the maximum prison sentence for blackmail? Fourteen years. And certainly, if _I_ were prosecuting such a case, I would recommend a particularly long sentence, accounting for the callous attempt to manipulate your _own son_ , and the significant psychological distress this has caused him.”

 

The voice started speaking again, and Martha listened for a few moments.

 

“Good. I think we have an understanding. I will need you to delete the picture, or pictures, that you do have. I am assured that they are no longer available on social media, so you will not be able to reacquire them. You will cease to demand any further payment from your son. In fact, you will cease contact with him completely.” There was a noise of objection, but Martha continued. “If these photographs do make their way to the press, rest assured there will be no doubt in my mind who is responsible, and I will not hesitate to report you to the police. Do we have an agreement?”

 

A short silence. “Good. Now, I will pass you back to my husband.”

 

Washington received the phone back, giving Martha a congratulatory thumbs-up as he did so. “Mr. Hamilton?”

 

“Are you serious? What more do you want from me?” the voice snapped, though there was an edge of fear in it now. 

 

“My wife is very much concerned with the legal angle of this,” Washington said. “But I personally want your assurance that you will not seek to contact your son again.”

 

There was a snort. “Are you fucking with me? Who the fuck are you, some jumped-up history teacher? It’s none of your business whether I speak to my son. He’s got no one else, did you know that? He needs a father.”

 

“Yes he does,” Washington said. Then he added, with some satisfaction, “But he does not need _you_. Goodnight, Mr. Hamilton. I hope for your sake that we don’t speak again.”

 

He hung up, and gave a heavy exhale.

 

“I enjoyed that far too much,” he confessed to Martha.

 

“I can see that,” Martha said, with a dry smile.

 

“How did it go? Was he backing down?”

 

“Yes,” Martha said simply. “He was blustering at first, but he quietened down a lot when I started quoting the emails, and when I mentioned the prison term. I think he realised quite how deep in he was. He’s dealt with lawyers before, I’m sure. He seemed far more guarded with me than he sounded with you. But he agreed to delete them, and not ask for any more money.”

 

“You think this’ll be an end to it?”

 

“Yes. He’s a nasty piece of work, but I don’t think he’s quite that stupid. He’s got a lot more to lose than the boys have, that’s for sure.”

 

“Thank you,” Washington said, and took her hand. Martha smiled, and squeezed back. 

 

“It’s nothing. What use is a high-flying lawyer wife if you can’t wheel her out to threaten a blackmailer once in a while?”

 

“What use indeed,” Washington laughed. “Though actually, if you could block the number and do the email thing on Alex’s phone… I wouldn’t know where to start.”

 

Martha rolled her eyes and took the phone. “Go in and tell them the good news.”  


“Are you sure? You did all the hard work.”

 

“I don’t mind you taking the credit,” she said with a smile. “Go on.”

 

When Washington opened the door to the lounge, all four boys swivelled to face him immediately. Hamilton actually half stood up at the table. “Is it…? We heard talking, did you…?”

 

“Martha and I spoke to him,” Washington said. “Well, Martha did most of the talking. But he’s going to delete the photos.”

 

The ripple of relief was instantaneous. Hamilton sat down quickly in his chair again, and John hugged him. Lafayette and Mulligan clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you sure?” Hamilton asked. “Do you really think…?”

 

“Martha seems confident,” Washington said. “I’m sure you’ll still be anxious about it for the next couple of weeks, but he’s got a lot more to lose than you have. You shouldn’t hear from him again.”

 

Hamilton visibly teared up, and John grabbed him again. “It’s OK, you idiot, it’s all right. Sir, get over here!”  


Washington wandered over gamely and let himself be strong-armed into the mass embrace. Hamilton gave him a teary, silent smile, John squeezed his shoulder, Lafayette gave a beaming grin, and Mulligan clapped him so hard on the back that he felt quite winded. “Seriously, it was really all Martha,” he protested. “You should be thanking her.”

 

“You can thank me by staying for dinner, the lot of you,” Martha called from the kitchen. “Though we’re getting takeaway, there’s no way I’m cooking for all of you on this kind of notice.”

 

“We can’t, we’ve already imposed enough,” Hamilton protested weakly.

 

“Obviously if you would rather go home, then I’ll give you all a lift,” Washington said quickly. “I realise you’ve had a long day.”

 

“No, it’s fine, if you’re sure…?” Hamilton asked.

 

“It’s no problem at all,” Washington said firmly, wondering what the hell was up with the boy. In the car he’d been wildly considering whether it would possible for him to pay for Hamilton’s masters tuition, let alone inviting him for a takeaway. “There are menus in the kitchen, follow me.”

 

***

 

On the whole the atmosphere over dinner seemed nothing short of celebratory, though Washington noticed that Hamilton seemed prone to bouts of sombre silence. He was quickly broken out of them by one of John’s jokes, however, and laughed just as hard as the rest when Washington managed to spill sweet and sour sauce on to his lap, and in turn when Mulligan’s laughter caused him to nearly choke on a prawn cracker. They somehow managed to get on to the subject of Washington’s book _again_ , to Lafayette’s delight, though Mulligan and Martha broke off to discuss fabrics at the far end of the table.

 

Later on, Washington offered to go and make another round of tea for everyone. He was standing in the kitchen boiling the kettle, when Hamilton joined him, to his surprise.

 

“Hi,” Hamilton said.

 

“Hi,” Washington said, a little nonplussed, picking out mugs. 

 

“I wanted to… talk to you,” Hamilton said, standing almost to attention.

 

Washington glanced at him quizzically. They had, after all, been talking the whole evening. “Yes?”

 

“Not now… I haven’t got it straight in my head. Can I come and see you? When I’ve got it worked out?”

 

“Of course,” Washington said warmly. His curiosity was kindled, however. “When were you thinking? Soon, or do you need, ah, longer to think?”

 

“Maybe Sunday?” Hamilton ventured. “If you’re free?”

 

Ah, so this was definitely personal, and not professional, or Hamilton would have scheduled in work hours. Good. 

 

“Not a problem,” Washington said. “Afternoon, if that suits?”

 

Hamilton gave him a small smile back. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

 

“Do you want to come over here?” Washington suggested. “I’ll give you a lift.”

 

Hamilton gave a genuine laugh at that. “No, it’s fine. I’ll walk if the weather’s good. You can give me a lift back though?”

 

Washington chuckled. “Not a problem. Just text me when you’re heading over, and I’ll, ah, put the kettle on.”

 

“Thanks,” Hamilton said. They stayed in the kitchen together, tending the tea in companionable silence, until Lafayette’s voice camein a faint yell from the dining room. 

 

“We are about to play poker, get back here if you want to join in!”

 

“Also, that tea’ll be cold if you don’t get a move on!” John joined in.

 

Hamilton rolled his eyes. “Fine, we’re coming!”

 

Washington grabbed three mugs obediently, and motioned for Hamilton to take the others. Then after one more shared glance, they headed back to the dining room, Washington clicking off the kitchen lights as they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit late. I had it all written, and then decided to extend the last scene into a final chapter. So sorry about that, but it should be along soon :) Hope you enjoyed!


	8. In Which There Is Unforeseen Honesty, And Yet More Hugging

Washington was half-worried that Hamilton would forget or back out of their meeting. It wasn’t unheard-of. As John had previously remarked, Hamilton did have a tendency to double-book himself. But about 2pm on Sunday, Hamilton sent a text saying he was coming round shortly if that was OK, and Washington texted back an enthusiastic affirmative. Martha was out, so he tried to distract himself by tidying the house and pointedly not thinking about what the conversation might entail.

 

The knock on the door, when it came, was quiet. When Washington opened it, Hamilton was standing outside looking slightly sheepish, but actually fairly well-groomed and cheerful. Washington ushered him in, and once Hamilton had politely turned down a drink, they went to sit in the lounge. 

 

“So,” Hamilton said, as soon as they’d sat down. Washington tried to look encouraging and not as if he were vaguely nervous. “Firstly, I’d like to say… thank you.”

 

Washington hoped his exhale of relief was covert, but shot him a long-suffering glance. “You’ve thanked me more than enough already, Alexander. It really isn’t necessary.”

 

“Not just for the other day. Though I am incredibly grateful, obviously. For everything, really. And more than that, I…” Hamilton suddenly became very interested in his knees. “I wanted to apologise.”

 

Washington opened his mouth, but Hamilton must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, because he shook his head and continued. “Seriously. For how I’ve been the last few weeks. And for turning up at your house at 3am, and the way I behaved in the morning. I realise it must have felt like I was just... throwing everything you’ve done for me back in your face.”

 

“Alexander,” Washington began. “Wasn’t that the morning you got the email from your father about the photos? You’d just been blackmailed by someone close to you - obviously I was worried at the time, but if you think I can’t excuse a bit of rudeness…”

 

“It wasn’t just that,” Hamilton interrupted. “I mean, I was worried about it. A lot. Obviously.But it was…”

 

He rubbed his face, looking awkward, and Washington stayed silent to let him resume in his own time. “It was more my own… ugh.” He gave a huff. “So. When my dad first emailed, I really thought that he was reaching out. I _know_ it was stupid, I even knew at the time that I was an idiot for hoping… But I really thought that it could be the beginning of something. Y’know, of him actually being like a dad to me. I thought he actually cared.”

 

Washington winced.

 

Hamilton rubbed his nose again, his jaw clenched. “And then that morning…” He shook his head. “It was like being dunked in ice water. Everything he’d ever done came rushing back… I came back to reality, I guess.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Washington said. “It shouldn’t be like that... But I don’t need to tell you that.”

 

“Yeah,” Hamilton said, in a small voice. “It just... It really threw me. I got so angry and caught up in myself... I started thinking of all the ‘might have beens’... All the ways my dad might have actually been a decent guy and supported me, and the way he fucked up.”

 

He rubbed the knee of his trousers self-consciously.

 

“And... The more I thought about it, the more I realised that basically the only ideas I have of what makes a good dad... Are from you.”

 

Washington was taken aback, but Hamilton’s eyes were still downcast, so he didn’t have to school his expression.

 

“I was thinking about how a dad should be fair, but not rude or cruel - so he’s not afraid to call you out if you’re wrong, and he might even get angry, but he’ll do it because he cares. And how he would _actually_ care, not because your grades might suffer, or because you need to be around to do something for him, but because he’s thinking about _your_ wellbeing.”

 

Now it was Washington’s turn to pretend to be interested in his knees, because otherwise he was going to have to pull out the corny “I’ve got something in my eye” line.

 

“And the fact that you _,_ like, actively watch out for me? You don’t just wait for me to fall apart, you try and keep an eye on me and check in, even if I’m being really shitty about it. Like that night, when you came in and switched off the lamp, when I was half-asleep? And you were… You were so _nice_ about it? And I felt… I feel… Safe. With you. I… I trust you.”

 

Hamilton gave a sharp exhale, as if he were running a race. Washington glanced up, to see him grimacing. “Sorry, I’m not used to the…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Being honest thing. But I talked to John about it, and he said I should just… get it all out.”

 

“Feel free?” Washington said, still rather bewildered at this outpouring.

 

“Anyway. That morning. I was thinking all of that… And then I was thinking how fucking stupid I’d been to trust my dad, and maybe I was stupid for trusting you as well. I mean, I was thinking, you’re just my supervisor - you want me to get good marks so you look good…”

 

Washington made a noise of protest.

 

“Sorry sir, I know, I know that’s not fair, but once I started thinking it, I couldn’t stop.” Hamilton glanced up finally, the vulnerability stark in his eyes. “I realised just how close I’d let myself get to you. And the idea that it could just be snatched from under me, that I’d get attached, and then have it all be for nothing… It was just too much.”

 

“Alexander,” Washington said gently. “Why didn’t you speak to me?”

 

Hamilton shrugged. “I thought about it. I mean, you were the first person I thought of telling when I saw the email from my dad - I thought you’d be able to help. Heh, good instinct, I guess. But the more everything went round and round in my head… I couldn’t bear to say anything, because it would just be admitting to myself, that, well… Since my real dad isn’t interested, that you’re the closest thing I have to a… father figure, I guess. And just everything hitting me that morning… It was too much. So I just made my excuses and left before I let myself just collapse and tell you everything.”

 

He took another deep breath. “So. There. Sorry. That was intense.”

 

“Yes,” Washington said stupidly. He was flabbergasted that Hamilton had been so honest, and realised a second later that the boy was sitting there, tense, waiting for a response. He looked rather like he was heading for the gallows, his expression was so closed and anxious. 

 

“Alexander… I don’t know what to say. I… I think we’re a pair of idiots?”

 

Hamilton gave a slight chuckle, face still concerned. “Why?”

 

“Because…” Washington rubbed a hand across his brow. “Jesus, that morning I was worrying too. I thought I’d crossed a major line and been really unprofessional. I was thinking that I’d overstepped and been too overfamiliar, and you were going to try and change tutors.”

 

Hamilton snorted. “No one else would take me.”

 

“That much is probably true,” Washington admitted, which got another laugh out of Hamilton. “The whole department thinks you’re a menace, with good reason. But I really, really didn’t want to lose you. I…” 

 

He pinched at his nose. It felt against his very nature to be as forthright and honest as Hamilton had been. As a tutor, and as an academic, he was used to measuring his words. Being tactful and diplomatic, rather than honest. Not that he couldn’t manage it, when the circumstances were appropriate. But in general, he was more inclined towards restraint.

 

Still, Hamilton had just bared his soul, rather dramatically, and the least he could do was contribute.

 

“Alex… I know we’ve joked about it before… But if you do need a father figure, I’m here, OK?” he said, very gently. Hamilton made a movement that might have been a nod, but didn’t say anything. “I’ll be honest, a lot of the time I don’t know how best to help you out. But I don’t care what it is - if it’s checking your essays, if it’s sorting out your ridiculous timetable, if it’s… Oh, I don’t know, taking you lot to buy groceries? I’ll do it, all right?”

 

Hamilton nodded, properly now.

 

“And I’ll be honest, I don’t know exactly how we’re going to balance it with me being your supervisor. I know mixing the personal and professional muddies the waters, and probably makes it more difficult for you. But I… I care about you a great deal, Alex. I want to see you succeed. And not just academically.” Hamilton made a face. “I know. I know it’s very important to you, but I want it to be a sidenote to you being happy, all right? That has to come first.”

 

“OK,” Hamilton said quietly.

 

“Can I ask…?” Washington began, and then hesitated. “The “son” thing, I…?”

 

Hamilton actually looked a bit pink in the face. “It’s fine, seriously. Sorry, I know I freaked out the other day, but that was just because of… everything else. It’s… yeah. Good.”

 

“Good,” Washington said warmly. “Oh… and while we’re still on the subject of happiness? I don’t mean to pry… But I wonder if you’ve thought about some… counselling, of some sort?” He was trying to phrase it delicately. “First John, and now this episode with your father… You’ve been through a lot, and it can sometimes help you deal with these sorts of things. I mean, obviously, if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here… But someone professional might be in a better position…?”

 

Hamilton pulled another face, but it was reasonably good-humoured. “You sound like John. He said the same thing, the other day. I’m… I’m thinking about it.”

 

“OK,” Washington said, surprised and pleased. He thought it was probably best to back off and leave that thought to percolate, in that case. “That’s good. John’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

 

Hamilton huffed. “Yeah. He’s annoying, but…”

 

Washington gave an approving hum. “He’s looking out for you.” He hesitated again. He had thought the other day, after the mention of the infamous photos that had been the centrepiece of the blackmail trauma, of asking Hamilton if he and John were a couple. But it was a big thing to announce, if true, and he didn’t want to push too much, too early. There would be time. 

 

“Anyway,” he said, with a contented sigh. “Since that was a rather emotionally draining conversation, would you like some tea?”

 

Hamilton actually had the cheek to roll his eyes. “How about coffee?” Washington got to his feet, and Hamilton followed suit.

 

“Fine, you ungrateful boy,” Washington teased, and slung an arm over Hamilton’s shoulder as they walked to the kitchen. It was a bit of a struggle for them to fit through the lounge door, but they made it after a brief bout of un-manly giggles.

 

As they were passing the porch, however, Hamilton paused. Washington turned to him quizzically. 

 

“Sir? Can I…?”

 

Washington was proud to say that he’d come to recognise when Alexander Hamilton needed a hug, and brought his other arm around him promptly. Hamilton immediately burrowed his head down into his chest, hiding his face. Washington secretly suspected that he was close to crying, because he felt similarly affected himself. He propped his chin on top of Hamilton’s shaggy head, and gave him a squeeze. They stayed like that for a moment, Hamilton’s breathing hitching a little against his chest.

 

“You all right?” Washington asked eventually. 

 

“Yes,” Hamilton said quietly. And then, so quietly that Washington could barely hear it - “Thank you.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Washington said sincerely. He wanted to say more - that it felt like an honour to have Hamilton trust him like this - but he didn’t want to overload the boy. Once again, there’d be time, one day.

 

“OK,” Hamilton said finally, breaking out of the hug, looking only a little tearstained. “Coffee?”

 

Washington gave his shoulder another quick squeeze. Hamilton glanced up at him, and the earnest affection in his dark eyes was arresting. Washington gave him a warm smile, and thought of how proud he was of this boy, and how much he wanted to be around to see all his triumphs in the years to come. 

 

“Coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END  
> Oh my goodness, everyone, I don’t know what to apologise more for - the fact that this one chapter has taken me SO LONG (that is, a long time of thinking about it and not-writing it… the writing I did most of this evening, so sincere apologies for any typos, proofreading time has been limited on this one), or the fact that I swear every one of my fics nowadays becomes this fluffy huggy parody of its former self and I DON’T EVEN CARE.  
> Thank you so much for reading, and for all the comments, as ever. I am certain that someone suggested that Washington talk to Hamilton about going for counselling, but I cannot for the LIFE of me find the comment. My apologies, and thank you very much for the inspiration!  
> Anyway, I’m so glad that there are so many other people out there who love Washingdad as much as I do. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!! x

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the previous fics in this series, you're the reason I'm coming back to this 'verse! Several bits in this one are inspired by comments people left, so I'll do my best to thank people as I go!


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